Diamonds and Ponytails
by LitRaptor42
Summary: A cute lil' story for the Princess Prosecutor, who demanded fluffy cuddly Fradrian. The whip lessons didn't go so well, and Adrian isn't sure what to say to Franziska. Oneshot.


This is for the Princess Prosecutor, who demanded fluffy cuddly Fradrian. This is as fluffy as I can get, which isn't surprising considering that my favorite fanfic to write is Miego.

But anyway, all for you, sweetie ^^

(P.S. Credit for this… incident… goes to axl99 on deviantArt. I mean, go find that picture and look at the expression on Adrian's face. How could I resist?)

* * *

~~ Diamonds and Ponytails ~~

* * *

They sat silent for a long time: Adrian couldn't really think of how to phrase the thoughts running madly through her head. And the ice pack over Franziska's face effectively blocked anything the younger woman might have had to say. Adrian uncomfortably wondered what this would do to their already-awkward relationship.

She had to admit it: she was still a constant worrier. Even now that Franziska spent so much time with her… it was still second nature (maybe even first) to fret about what the prosecutress might be thinking. Adrian still worried about what _other_ people thought about the two of them, what she _herself_ thought about the two of them, what their _friends_ thought about the two of them…

And now what had Adrian done to their friendship? She was sitting on the edge of Franziska's bed, the other woman stretched out on it full-length. Franziska hadn't complained a bit, though just after the incident the air had turned blue with imprecations, unsuccessfully smothered under a gloved hand. At this point, Adrian was just excited she'd finally been invited into her friend's apartment. All of their encounters so far had been at her own pad.

She was also glad she herself hadn't gotten smacked in the face with a whip: she would certainly be crying by now. How did Mr. Wright and Detective Gumshoe stand it?

Glancing over at Franziska with the two men in her head, Adrian couldn't help it. She giggled, a little hysterically. Still wearing her decadently formal courtroom outfit (albeit with no shoes) and holding a huge blue ice pack over the whip mark, Franziska did look a little foolish.

There was a moment of silence, then the ice pack shifted, and Adrian saw the glint of one eye. "You said something?" Franziska asked, very crossly.

"Um, no," Adrian said hastily, scootching closer. Time to say something before she lost her nerve. "Franziska, I'm so sorry." Again. "It was… I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention to your instructions."

Actually, she had been paying _very_ close attention to Franziska's instructions. In fact, if it were anyone else Adrian would be arguing that the instructions weren't very good. "_It is like tennis_," Franziska had said from behind her, both of their eyes focused on the target (which had a curiously spiky head) taped to the wall in front of Adrian. _"Before you can go forward, you must pull back, to get momentum_."

And so Adrian had flung her arm back, the whip tracing a neat parabola at her side. Was it really her fault that Franziska had been standing directly where the whip's tip reversed direction, snapping with a noise like a mouse trap? Adrian had thought she was going to die when she turned around and found the other woman on the floor, clutching her face.

Now, Franziska made a short _humph_, neither angry nor forgiving, and dropped the ice pack once more. Perhaps she knew. There was a muffled curse, which Adrian couldn't understand; then Franziska abruptly sat up, taking off the ice pack.

The mark wasn't really that bad. Just a giant red mark slashing from one eyebrow to the opposite cheekbone, bruised across the nose. Adrian winced as the other woman spoke. "Perhaps so. Have you never seen the casting of a whip? One does not snap the weapon back as if fly-fishing."

Adrian unsuccessfully tried to muffle another giggle—this time at the thought of the prosecutor wearing hip-waders (but still with the bow and brooch), knee-deep in the stream casting a rod and reel. Franziska glared, but the expression was marred by her right eye, which was red and puffed and didn't glare very well. "I'm sorry, Franziska. Really. Maybe you shouldn't give me whip lessons after all. I'm so clumsy."

Again, she was answered only by a _humph_. Adrian got the sense that Franziska wasn't angry, so much as mortified beyond comprehension: but again, how did one ask a von Karma if she was embarrassed?

Looking over, she noticed for the first time that the tip of Franziska's nose was bright red, despite having avoided any whip damage. And glancing at the other woman's eyes, Adrian saw there were tears, furiously restrained. In a brief flash of sympathy, she realized what Franziska must be feeling on top of sheer pain: and furthermore, what to say about it.

It's time for me to man up, she thought with amusement. Putting her hand on Franziska's, Adrian said softly, "You're worried about going into court, right?"

She'd half expected Franziska to burst out, as usual, with a sneer, perhaps about Perfection worrying over nothing. But she was gratified to find out that Franziska did, in fact, have a vulnerable side.

The prosecutor slouched a little: her expression was still furious, but her hand tightened around Adrian's. "Yes. What… ugh, what would my little brother say if he should see this foolishness?" Turning to the slight blonde woman with a scowl, Franziska snapped, "What would you do? Hide yourself?"

Adrian knew the anger wasn't directed at hers: they were sitting so close that it was impossible not to correctly read Franziska's body language. She could feel the other woman's body heat, could detect a whiff of expensive, musky perfume, and could see a tiny beauty mark behind Franziska's ear, a perfect kissing spot. All she could feel was penitence.

"No, hiding yourself is never the answer. Trust me." The words sounded wise, coming out of her mouth, and Adrian remembered, not for the first time, that she was almost five years older than this marvelous, terrifying young woman sitting next to her. "No one is going to laugh at you if they know it was my fault."

No reply. Feeling very brave all of a sudden, Adrian reached out and deliberately caressed one of Franziska's shapely knees. "Really. And you could call off sick, too. I know it would be…"

"The first time in my life," Franziska interrupted, but grumpily and not as if she objected to the idea. She hadn't reacted yet to Adrian's touch; as she spoke, her head drooped uncharacteristically.

Wondering if she was going too far—then immediately dismissing the idea—Adrian snaked an arm around Franziska's waist, hugging her close. But not too close. "Look, Franziska. I know you expect to present yourself perfectly to everyone every time, but… I'm sure you feel completely wretched right now. Going to court and feeling exposed and judged won't make things better, you can trust me on that."

For was a moment everything teetered, and Adrian had no idea what would happen next. Then, against all odds, Franziska leaned her head onto Adrian's shoulder, with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle.

There were so many other things to say. That Franziska still looked beautiful, despite the painful (if somewhat amusing) swelling of the injury, her angular cheekbones and jaw still proudly visible. That no one would question her if she did call off sick. That Adrian could do it for her: she'd never had a problem sounding dominant over the phone.

And, most of all, that if anyone did mock Franziska for the accident, she could _still_ whip them into silent submission.

But Adrian couldn't think of any reason to say any of those things. With one arm around Franziska and the other holding her hand, Adrian could practically feel it: for probably the first time ever, Franziska von Karma wanted to rely on someone else.

God. What a power rush.

* * *

She ended up calling into the prosecution offices for Franziska. Her own light voice, lowered and hardened into arrogance, fooled even Franziska's erstwhile brother. "And you'll be all right tomorrow, for the final hearing?" he asked. She could hear the shuffling of papers in the background: it obviously didn't hurt that he was busy.

"Of course," she said, huffing. "It is your responsibility to defeat our foolishly foolish opponent in the meantime, Miles Edgeworth."

"Mm-hmm," he had said tolerantly. "All right, Franziska. Take care of yourself. I'll make your excuses."

"There is no excuse to give, little brother," she snapped, and hung up.

A moment of silence ensued as she smugly congratulated herself. The ice pack was back over Franziska's face, though Adrian had finally convinced her to removed her suit and don a dressing-gown.

Then a muffled voice. "Were you mocking me, Adrian Andrews?"

"You can't mock perfection," Adrian answered, feeling the words drip with laughter as she spoke them. And it was the truth. Everything she'd said had been for effect, to convince the High Prosecutor.

She laid down on the bed next to Franziska, and ran her hand down the arm of the younger woman's dressing-gown. Its blue satin pattern was embroidered in dragons, all with tiny diamonds for eyes. "This is beautiful. It suits you exactly."

Another pause. Grudgingly, Franziska said, "Thank you."

Thank you for what? Adrian wondered briefly. It could have been just for the compliment…or it could have been for staying. She hoped it was both.

She snaked an arm back around Franziska's waist, and they cuddled for a little while, neither of them saying anything. It was chilly outside, and Adrian could see grey rain sliding down the windows: but snuggled against Franziska, the clean scent of her shampoo mingling with the warmth of her body. They were almost exactly the same size, and Adrian couldn't remember the last time she had felt quite so perfectly at home.

They were both beginning to fall asleep when she heard the other woman repeat, but more softly this time, "Thank you."

This time Adrian really did ask, albeit sleepily. "What for?"

Franziska paused for a long time; Adrian bent forward and kissed the back of her neck encouragingly. Finally, "For… for knowing who I want to be… and not hating me for failing."

Adrian was so touched that thought she might cry for a moment. It was probably only the pain of being whipped in the face that was making Franziska say it. And there was no question that if Adrian were ever to share this with anyone, it would be her delicate face getting destroyed.

But that was the point, after all. She understood. Tightening her arms around Franziska's slim waist, incredibly glad that her whip lessons had dismally failed, she murmured, "You're welcome."


End file.
